


Killing the Mood (Supernatural - Crowstiel)

by SingingFlames



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel is too literal, Flirting, Fluff, Humor, M/M, crowstiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 08:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8243095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingingFlames/pseuds/SingingFlames
Summary: Castiel visits Crowley but is entirely too literal.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Word Count: 1100+  
> Warnings: Kissing, Flirting, Two guys being romantic (if that’s not your thing, please don’t read)  
> A/N: I don’t normally do romantic, well, anything, but I do ship Crowstiel so I gave this a shot. And, being me, I had to slip humor in it. I couldn’t help that. No apologies.

“Hello, pet,” Crowley said, glancing up from his work at Castiel. He raised a brow. “Wasn’t expecting you. Not complaining, mind.” With a curt gesture, he motioned at his attendants to leave.

Castiel approached the table, gaze flicking over the various parchments strewn about. Candles, set in tarnished bronze candelabras, cast a warm glow over the dark wood, the papers, the arching stone pillars, and the scattered furnishings. Against the back wall, the baroque chair Crowley used as his throne loomed in the shadows. Castiel’s gaze returned to Crowley. “It’s been awhile since we saw each other and I had a free moment.”

“Just a ‘moment’? Where’s the fun in a moment?” the demon said with a smirk. Crowley circled around to stand near his companion. He ran his index finger up the angel’s jawline.

Castiel tilted his head a fraction toward the touch. Such a fleeting contact, yet it sent a thrill through him. “Each moment is unique and has equal opportunity for ‘fun’. The amount of time invested is irrelevant.”

Crowley’s hand drifted to the back of Castiel’s neck, fingers tracing circles across his flesh. “Ah, but it does limit the options available.”

“What options are you…,” the angel began. He squinted, thinking. “You’re making a sexual reference.”

With a soft chuckle, Crowley tapped a finger twice against the tip his nose. “You’re getting it.”

Castiel refrained from asking about the finger-to-nose gesture. It seemed anti-climatic, asking for clarification as the demon congratulated him for his understanding. He had witnessed Dean use the gesture before and gathered it indicated a positive response. Like he had with so many human mannerisms, he let it pass unremarked upon.

Castiel shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. My choice of the word ‘moment’ was not meant to indicate a short period of time; it was used, instead, as a non-specific measurement.”

“Well then, that opens up quite the list of possibilities, doesn’t it?” The demon’s hand reversed direction and curled back in front of Castiel’s neck, fingernails ghosting across his flesh. Castiel’s breath caught, an instinctual reaction of his vessel. He suppressed a shiver. Crowley brought his hand around to cup the angel’s head. Leaning forward, Crowley brushed his lips over Castiel’s throat. The angel reached up, intertwining their fingers.

With a content sigh, Castiel tilted his head. “Is that an actual list? Like a menu?”

“Beg pardon?” Crowley pulled back. He blinked. “‘Menu’? What are you going on about?”

“Your comment reminded me of something from a few years back. I was just thinking of Dean-”

“-Killing the mood, love-”

“-what? I’m sorry. We can resume our activities.”

Crowley sighed, crossing his arms. “Bloody hell. Now you’ve piqued my curiosity.” He waved a negligent hand. “Pray continue.”

“Dean took me to a… a house of ill repute. Once.” Ignoring his companion’s raised brows, Castiel continued. “During our visit, he gave me some money and instructions not to ‘order off the menu’.”

“Squirrel took you to a bordello? Kinky.” Crowley’s gaze traveled down the angel’s frame. He smirked. “Did you boys have fun?”

“Ah, no. Apparently, I, uh, killed the mood, as you say.” The angel shrugged. “It was not my intention… Why are you laughing?”

“You couldn’t get shagged in a whorehouse? There’s a joke there. One I’ll spare you from, though.” Crowley shook his head, chuckling. “Whatever did you do? These are professional women - and men - and they get paid for their services. There’s no mood there to kill.”

“I spoke with the young lady about her past and attempted to assure her that certain episodes, of which she blamed herself, were not, in fact, her fault. She didn’t appreciate my efforts.”

“Cas, Cas, dear Cas. When engaging in professional transactions - as you were - you keep it professional. No emotional involvement, on either side. And humans, in particular, are unappreciative of people reading their little minds, especially when they’re unaware such ability exists.”

“Dean seemed to concur.” Castiel squinted, gaze fixed on the wall. “But during the entire encounter, I never saw a menu, or anything indicating services or prices. Out of curiosity, I checked other questionable establishments, but none had anything like that. When you mentioned a list of possibilities, I figured perhaps you knew what menu Dean was referring to.”

Crowley watched the angel, a smile playing at his lips. “You, duckling, are entirely too literal.”

“It is metaphorical?”

“While it’s quite possible some establishments have some form of, hmm, written price guide, I rather doubt they refer to it as a menu.”

“What do they call it?”

“Tacky? How would I know?” Crowley held his arms out wide. “I don’t require their services.”

“If it’s a metaphorical menu, how do people determine what is on, versus off, it? How would I be expected to order on the basis of a metaphor?”

The demon steepled his fingers and brought them to his lips. “You do realize that when Dean mentioned a ‘menu’ at a whorehouse, he was referring to sexual practices, yes?” At the angel’s nod, he continued, “Well, that’s something. See, humans are odd creatures. They enjoy labeling things, all sorts of things. And some of their favorite labels, particularly for behaviors, are normal and, well, less so. Normal things appear on menus. Anything ‘off menu’ would be considered, by the majority, as unusual or strange. Our dear Dean undoubtedly wished to spare you from any unconventional experiences.”

“The list you mentioned, of possibilities, would you consider it on or off menu?”

Crowley hummed to himself, picking up Castiel’s hand. Lifting it to his mouth, he placed a soft kiss - barely felt - across the fingers. His lips quirked into a wicked smirk. Crowley nipped at Castiel’s knuckles, tugging lightly at the flesh. “A few of my ideas are off menu, admittedly, but I try to stay with the more mundane options for you. I’d rather not push boundaries you may not be ready for.”

“Which do you prefer, menu-wise?” Castiel gazed at their hands, his thumb running across Crowley’s fingertips.

“Darling, I’m a connoisseur. I like it all,” the demon replied with a smile. He brought his other hand up and caressed Castiel’s cheek. “You know, we could continue exploring those options. If you’d like.”

“I would enjoy that.” Castiel’s fingers traced up the smooth Egyptian cotton of Crowley’s shirt. His hand slipped under the other’s suit jacket.

“As would I.” Leaning forward, Crowley brushed his lips over Castiel’s, a brief and gentle touch. The angel sighed, relaxing into the fleeting contact. Crowley pulled back far enough to catch Castiel’s gaze. “Do me a favor, though, yeah? No more ‘menu’ questions, no more random comments about odd, menial things. Agreed? You have the most dreadful pillow talk.”

“I don’t talk to pillows.”

“Bloody. Hell.”


End file.
